


new and improved

by N_Is_For_Knowledge



Series: Fictober ‘19 [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Fictober 2019, Gen, the eternal struggle of preternatural accessibility, theres blood but only in an ice cream context, why did i write so much for this prompt, yet another dip pretends to be human fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_Is_For_Knowledge/pseuds/N_Is_For_Knowledge
Summary: “ “You know how we were low on staff, and everyone was complaining that I was ‘overworking them’ and that ‘I really have to get home, I have a family’ and ‘the hours are terrible, I’m going to faceplant in this pistachio if I scoop one more bowl of sorbet’?”Everyone nodded, and at least one person mumbled that the hours were terrible.“Well, I’ve found someone new to introduce to the Chesley family! Introducing… drumroll, please…” There was a lackluster drumroll, done by only two people. “Tyrone Hollins!” ”Dipper just wanted to work at an ice cream shop. He didn’t set out to bring trouble to Portland.
Series: Fictober ‘19 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518956
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96





	new and improved

**Author's Note:**

> I’m racing to keep up with Fictober, so I must, inevitably, skip multiple prompts. I was thinking about more Alcor pretending to be human shenanigans, and somehow, I ended up with 1k words about Dipper working at an ice-cream shop. Enjoy.  
This is for Prompt 9: “There is a certain taste to it.”

Jenn Marshal, the rather overenthusiastic owner and manager of Chesley’s Ice Cream Shoppe, had, for some reason, decided to call a staff meeting. “Good morning, everyone!” She seemed utterly ignorant of the fact that it was one AM. 

“You know how we were low on staff, and everyone was complaining that I was ‘overworking them’ and that ‘I really have to get home, I have a family’ and ‘the hours are terrible, I’m going to faceplant in this pistachio if I scoop one more bowl of sorbet’?” Everyone nodded, and at least one person mumbled that the hours  _ were  _ terrible. “Well, I’ve found someone new to introduce to the Chesley family! Introducing… drumroll, please…” There was a lackluster drumroll, done by only two people. “Tyrone Hollins!” She shoved someone in front of her, a man probably around a head shorter than Liz, the shortest person there, and who looked like he very much did not want to be here.

After the ‘initiation’ (Tyrone was apparently an adept juggler, and didn’t seem fazed by the taste of the blood-flavored ice cream), they found themself cornering the new guy. “Why are you here? You look like you don’t want to be here.”

“I just wanted to work at an ice cream shop. I didn’t expect _this.” _He gestured toward the wreckage and remains of ice cream. Some of it was on fire.

“Just warning you. The shifts are ridiculously long, Marshal’s like an extremely chipper slave driver, and you  _ aren’t even allowed to have samples _ .”

Tyrone frowned at them. “No, you’re allowed to have samples.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I’ll ask Jenn. Hey, Jenn! Can you get the employment contract?”

Jenn, who had been looking at her phone a few feet away, grumbled “Fine,” and walked away, before returning with a large, important-looking file. “Here you go, Hollins.”

Tyrone rifled through it for a few seconds before stopping. He pointed to a section that, in extremely fine print, read ‘Employees are allowed to eat samples of ice cream as long as the Manager does not see them do it.’ “See?”

“I didn’t even  _ know _ about that. And I'm, like, the longest running employee here. I’m the only one who  _ hasn’t _ quit after seeing the Unimaginable Horror in Storeroom Twelve.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t read the contract.”

“It’s not even helpful. Marshal’s like a hawk. An incredibly cheerful hawk.”

“I have my ways.” Tyrone winked, and with that, he walked over to the ice cream churner, leaving them to wonder what the hell just happened.

Over the course of the next few days, they kept their head down, did their work, and ignored anything that might get them fired. Tyrone, on the other hand, had become something of a celebrity, if celebrities were only famous to a small group of people who worked at a specific ice cream shop. 

He had apparently managed to sneak two gallons worth of ice cream out of the building, and was subsequently punished by Jenn, who made him clean out Storeroom Twelve. Five minutes later, he came out, covered in slime, with a smug look on his face, and said that he had taken care of their monster problem and that they were blocking the rocky road, how dare they. They checked later, and the Unimaginable Horror of Storeroom Twelve was indeed gone.

They didn’t speak to Tyrone until next Wednesday, when he cornered them in the janitorial closet.

“So, Jenn was saying that  _ you  _ were the one to pioneer the blood ice cream recipe?”

“Uh, yeah, what is it? You a pro-nat? You don’t want us selling to supernaturals?”

He started laughing. “Oh, no! It’s nothing… nothing like that. It’s just, the ice cream is…”

“Disgusting?” It was supposed to be. The blood ice cream wasn’t meant for humans, anyway.

“Yes! It doesn’t taste like blood  _ at all _ .” That was  _ not  _ what they expected.

“You’ve tasted blood?”

“Yep! You’ve got the flavor all wrong. You’re completely overusing the coppery tang, which tends to be the taste most humans notice, so really, I don’t blame you, but you’re missing the smaller, subtler tastes, the ones that make blood so appealing! To preternaturals, I mean, blood isn’t appealing to  _ me… _ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re some kind of blood connoisseur.”

The dude was still rambling. “I’m just saying, not everyone likes blood, right? It’s got like, a certain taste to it. Not everyone appreciates that.”

“Hey, dude? You’re starting to sound  _ really  _ creepy.”

“I’m saying, why do you need to bother with all of the artificial flavors? Why can’t you just put blood  _ in _ the ice cream?”

“Where will you even get blood?”

“Blood is surprisingly easy to get if you know where to look.”

“What the fuck, Tyrone?”

“Just saying!”

Shortly after that, they found Tyrone pouring a suspiciously red liquid into the churner, and posters were up all over the town declaring Chesley’s Ice Cream Shoppe to be the only ice cream store in the country that sold fresh, natural, cow’s blood ice cream. Preternaturals were flocking from all over the state, so they were extremely busy, and Jenn had even decided to help out with sales herself. Most of that put any thought of the weird new guy out of their mind. Besides, they had other stuff to worry about. Like the fact that, on Monday, they got their first-ever pro-natural customer. 

“Which flavor would you like?”

“Honestly, I wonder why I even came here anyway. This used to be such a nice place, but then all the supernaturals came here and dirtied it. Those freaks of nature shouldn’t even exist.”

“Excuse me, sir. Which flavor would you like?”

“Anything but the blood, please. I’m not a dirty blood-sucker.”

He hadn’t clarified, and had thrown a hissy fit when he had received a large bowl of strawberry ice cream. He then left, headed, apparently, to the old church down the block, the one that housed the local chapter of the Circle of the Dreamer’s Star. 

They had ten more pro-nat customers the next day, and they followed the same basic procedure. They complained about the inclusion of blood ice cream, the obvious preter customers, anything they could find. They threw a fit when anyone insinuated that they would enjoy said blood ice cream. They finally left, heading to the church down the block to do who knows what. Repeat until eleven thirty, when they could  _ finally  _ go home and rest until the next day of dealing with pro-nats.

On Tuesday, Tyrone gave the other employees the not-so-good news.

“There’s a pro-nat protest planned on Thursday. They’re gathering.”

“Gathering? At the Dreamer church?”

“They’re infiltrating the church. They’re planning to take down the Circle one chapter at a time. Then, they’re gonna come over here.”

“What are they even protesting?”, said one of the others, a kid who they were pretty sure wrote fan fiction while they were supposed to serve customers. “Jenn’s been real careful not to offend them.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the blood ice cream.”

“But why now? We’ve sold blood-flavored ice cream since the Transcendence.”

“Well, yeah, but no one actually  _ bought  _ it.” They couldn’t help but feel a little offended at that.

“This is your fault!” Jenn, leaning against the door, finally made her presence known. She always did have an affinity for dramatics.

“What?”

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t made that blood-flavored ice-cream in the interest of  _ interspecies cooperation,  _ I wouldn’t be worrying about my  _ fucking job! _ ” They had always thought of Jenn as overly cheerful, but now she was downright manic.

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that this would alert a bunch of pro-nats?”

“What are we gonna do about this?”

“We could alert the Dinner Crew…”

“The Dinner Crew? The Dinner Crew is a fucking  _ mob _ , Tyrone! We’re not contacting a  _ mob _ .”

“Aw, fine. What are we going to do about this, then?”


End file.
